


Discharge

by imitationicarus



Category: Boku no Hero Academia, My Hero Academia
Genre: Bakusquad, Depression, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kaminari is a sad little fluff, funny contact names, hero - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitationicarus/pseuds/imitationicarus
Summary: Bakugo was their strength. Kirishima was their glue. Sero was their happiness. And Kaminari? He wasn’t sure if he was anything but worthless. An exploration of Kaminari Denki as he recognizes his deepest fears, and with his friends, manages to overcome his feelings of insignificance and worthlessness that had plagued the real him hidden beneath the façade of a smile.





	Discharge

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Rated T for depression and cursing, mostly from Bakugo. Also, I hate Mineta. I will not apologize for that. Don’t expect a pleasant interpretation of him. 
> 
> Headcannons: I believe Kaminari’s parents are dead, and he lives alone. I also believe when he is low on charge, he can regain energy through phone chargers by keeping the end in his mouth. Funny little thing me and my friendo came up with. 
> 
> Author Notes: I decided to call him Kaminari most of the story instead of Denki because I can’t look at Denki with a straight face. I studied Japanese, and the word is just strange and too ironic. I usually call him Kaminari despite it being his last name anyway, so I just continued that with my writing. I also wanted to add a characteristic for Ashido, but I couldn’t come up with one already mentioned, and I handwrote this entire fanfiction and just wanted to get it over with by the end. Maybe I can try that soon though.

Bakugo was, indisputably, number one (except in anything other than terrorizing Midoriya and competing in the Sports Festival.) He protected them and kept them safe. Without him, where would they be?

Kirishima was, indisputably, the glue that held them all together as the fluff beneath the hard skin. Without him, how would they stick together?

Sero was, indisputably, the one who kept them laughing, the one who could lift burdens like feathers and dissolve them like soap in water. Without him, how could they smile?

Kaminari was, indisputably, the weak link. He contributed nothing to the strength of the team; he fell apart and panicked in any foreign situation which, since coming to UA, has grown in frequency. He humiliated himself by stooping down to Mineta’s level just to get a laugh and for what? Nothing worth the painstaking torture he put himself through every time he woke up and looked in the mirror.

Aizawa-sensei assigned them mock fighting brackets after the horror that was the Sports Festival. Kaminari’s performance varied little—faced against Jiro, he went for an all-powerful knockout attack (more to get the fight over with than anything), which predictably failed, and Jiro won without landing a hit. Kaminari’s fight was the first and lasted all but one minute. For the next half hour, he was forced to sit on the sidelines, waiting on the results of only _one_ fight, Yaoyorozu versus Kirishima, while keeping the end of the phone charger pressed to his tongue

He frowned at the charge pack as it blinked a blue dot at him, feeling the faint pain at the back of his skull receding.

He wasn’t a fighter. How could he possibly be a hero without fighting?

That day, he went home early. Just told Aizawa-sensei he overdid it and headed home. His friends only realized he was gone when they looked over at his spot and found nothing but his training clothes neatly folded in a pile.

* * *

Kaminari lived alone and constantly on the go. His charge pack was replenishing by the door for the new day as he tried to prepare himself breakfast, but the electric stove stopped working, and he didn’t trust himself to zap it back in working order. He settled for slightly burnt toast as his phone buzzed. He munched on his bread and leaned his elbows on the counter, reading the messages.

_My Serial Killer: Who the hell spilled their damn soda all over my fucking school bag?_

He typed slowly, “You just now noticed?”

Sero had accidentally tipped a cup over the last time they had hung out. It was at least a week old.

_My Serial Killer: What the hell does that mean?_

_Ducky Tape: Sorry bro. I tried to clean it up, but I agree with Denki, how the hell did you not notice it before?_

_My Serial Killer: Because I didn’t need my homework until now you asshole!_

_Ducky Tape: Geez. I already said I’m sorry_

_My Serial Killer: Doesn’t fix the bag you fucked up!!_

Kaminari’s fingers hesitated. What should he say? Offer to go get a new bag with Bakugo?

He thought about it and thought about it for too long. By the time he came up with a way of phrasing it without pissing off Bakugo, a new notification appeared.

_Probably Tetsutetsu: Don’t worry Katsuki, I’ll come over and help you clean it, I know a pretty easy way. Next time, we’ll keep the sodas out of the living room._

It seemed so easy, and yet, it wasn’t. Kaminari could not hold them together as a group. He was just a damsel in distress, always waiting for his knight; but there was only one knight to save all the other damsels, so he had to wait in line for his turn.

He slowly sat the phone down when _Dancing Queen_ joined the conversation and started asking when they all could hang out next, prompting various responses from the others. He had to turn off vibrate just so it wouldn’t slide off the counter and left it there next to the remaining piece of toast.

He missed school that day—called in saying his quirk really did a number on him and no, he didn’t need Recovery Girl, and yes, he knew he would be behind, but he didn’t think he could make it the full day. Aizawa-sensei left him alone after that, and he went and ran a bath and sat in it for a long time.

* * *

Questions hit the group chat before first period even ended, but Kaminari didn’t see them until right before lunch, opting to suck on the metal end of his charger than a meal when a heaviness settled in his head after he got redressed.

_Probably Tetsutetsu: Denki are you okay? Is everything alright?_

He tried to think of something funny as he tasted the metallic tang from the charger. His mouth hummed, but the heaviness had yet to lift.

_Dancing Queen: Yeah honey, you okay? We’re worried about you._

Her message was followed by an amalgamation of hearts and alien faces. He smiles faintly and typed out his response.

“Just lost some brain cells yesterday, I didn’t think I could stand Present Mic’s English lecture today.”

He waited, staring at the three blinking dots of _My Serial Killer_ and _Probably Tetsutetsu_ typing.

_My Serial Killer: Is that supposed to be funny?_

He felt a throbbing elsewhere than his brain, and when he realized it was his heart, he left his phone on the couch and went to his room, so he could crawl under the covers and not come out until his stomach forced him to move.

Kaminari wasn’t funny, couldn’t make anyone laugh even if he tried.

What good was he anyway? Did he even deserve a spot in 1-A, when his behavior easily merited him not even walking within six feet of the school grounds? He didn’t know, but it all seemed dark and hopeless in those moments, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and never wake up again.

* * *

The first time Mineta called, he had ignored it, along with the pile of notifications that filled his screen from the chat _Bakusquad_. The second time he called, Kaminari answered. He didn’t know why.

“Yo, Kaminari!” He had to hold the phone from his ear when loud music mutilated his speaker system. “It’s a killer party down here! You should come!”

“Party,” the blond mumbled, rubbing his temple.

The migraine hurt, and he would do anything to make it just go away.

“Yeah, come on dude! There’s a lot of cute chicks here!” He managed to rattle off an address before he faded into the abyss of basses and the voices of other people having fun.

Kaminari didn’t go to have fun. He didn’t go for cute girls. He went to get the pain from his head and remove the feeling of each step carrying a million pounds behind him.

Like any other party someone like Mineta was attracted to, there were bright blaring lights and loud blaring music, and Kaminari pulled on the choker he decided to throw on like it was a noose. And then someone gave him a drink, and without thinking, he greedily gulped down every drop and grinned when he felt a little of the heaviness lift, even if it was only a few pounds.

When the next round came, Kaminari snagged two plastic cups and swallowed it so fast he could have started eating the cups if someone hadn’t come around with refills.

He never saw Mineta or any of the cute girls he was talking about because, by the end of the party, he couldn’t separate a male from a female, let alone a grape from a bonsai tree. The heaviness was gone, and he felt like he could fly. How many drinks he consumed, he didn’t know—he couldn’t even count the stars in the sky as he laid on the lawn, somehow drifting away from the party inside. He laid there forever, and then closed his eyes, feeling like he had been completely released from the cage of his useless body and could float far, far away, to somewhere where he could matter, if it was only for a little bit.

* * *

Underage drinking had to be reported to the school. It was the first infraction (that he had been caught with), but surely the last when Aizawa-sensei showed up in the hospital room the next morning. He cast a glance at the empty banana bag with a grimace Kaminari thought was solely for him.

“So, you decided to get wasted at a party after you called in sick,” he said.

Kaminari had no excuse, so he didn’t try to give one, fiddling with the bracelet taped to his wrist.

He continued. “And some other wasted kids _of age_ found you and thought you were dead, so they called 911.”

That, he didn’t remember. He figured from the conversation he overheard with the nurse as she disapprovingly had to check on him every thirty minutes. “Wasting life,” he had caught her mumbling.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Kaminari shook his head. He had nothing to say as the heaviness weighed upon him again, depressing his will to do anything other than sleeping forever and ever.

Aizawa-sensei sighed and walked to the door.

“You better start taking this seriously, or you’ll never be a hero,” he said before he left.

That was the point, wasn’t it? He would never be a hero. He wasn’t strong enough. He couldn’t hold a group together, let alone himself, and he couldn’t alleviate a dire situation and bring happiness to those who had lost it. All defining characteristics of a hero had avoided his genetics.

He couldn’t stop the tears when they came fast and hard.

He just wanted so desperately not to be useless, to be a hero; but he got wasted and skipped class— _that_ wasn’t a hero, and it made him cry more, and it made the heaviness throb in his head.

He was still a mess when the door opened again, and four heads popped in; smiles fizzling into creased brows and deep frowns as he tried to wipe the tears away, but the evidence couldn’t be hidden. Everything he built up, the stack of cards he placed section by section to avoid his friends every seeing him like this by avoiding them was blown away, and it left him exposed and broken.

They consoled him. They rubbed his back and said sweet things until, among the sobs, Kaminari managed to declare the one thing he wished to take away—his worthlessness, his lack of aptitude at being a hero.

“You’re kidding right?” Sero asked, but it stung like ‘you think that’s funny?’, and he started to close up, to sink into his shell.

“Denki,” Kirishima said softly. “I think you’d make a great hero. You don’t have to be any of those things to be great.”

“Yeah, Denki! You have your own perks!” Ashido added, but in his black and white world, he didn’t see it.

Bakugo scoffed, and he looked at him, expecting him to say everything that he knew in his heart all along.

“That’s stupid,” he spat, “Saying those characteristics make a hero. What the hell do you call our sensei then?”

Four pairs of confused eyes met his, and he cursed, jerking out a finger as he made his points. “Sensei isn’t fucking strong. At all. He can erase someone’s quirk, but they can still kick his ass.” Another finger. “I don’t see him leading any fucking hero battalion into battle. He works alone and he fucking says the weirdest shit to his students. He isn’t holding anyone together, that’s for damn sure, because he’s a fucking mess.” A final finger. “And he is not funny. I bet its depressing as hell to be saved by a hero named Eraserhead and dressed like he just walked out of a trashcan.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yet, he managed to save all our asses at the USJ, despite having none of those characteristics. If that ain’t a hero, I don’t know what is.”

It was the truth, but it came from Bakugo, making it bitter and sweet and dizzying for Kaminari to swallow as he realized if Bakugo said it, it had to be the truth. And the thin façade he built himself was nothing more than a mask. He laughed at that. He laughed at that when he realized how stupid he had been. There were no set characteristics that proved their set worth in society—it’s what they did that proved themselves.

Kaminari could be a hero with a characteristic he had never recognized in himself before. He was a spark that could ignite a passion in others, a current that could generate a response and rally conductors to himself.

He could be a hero—just by being himself.

**Thanks for reading.**


End file.
